Ranma, Now on PC
by BonusPoints
Summary: Ranma wakes up with very sketchy memories in an unfamiliar body and attempts to reclaim some sort of life, meeting and engaging in often pointless conflicts with some old friends, and new. FemRanma
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me, and I am gaining absolutely no resource advantage through the creation of this story. Don't sue.**

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**Ranma, Now on PC: Intro**

Everything started with a warm, enveloping softness.

Comfort was not routine. It had been over a decade since things had been otherwise, and so some manner of strangeness was afoot.

There was a humming coming from everywhere.

The sound was loud but wasn't masking any _other_ obvious noises. Nothing, and no one, was breathing. No beasts were scurrying about. There was no stream and there were no cars, trains, or sounds of human bustle. All that could be heard was the all-pervasive, ceaseless humming. There was nothing familiar about this, it acted as a warning sign.

The only apparent odour was that of clean laundry.

The human scents of sweat and fire were the most notable omissions, seeing as their absence implied a complete and entirely unfamiliar solitude. There was no powerful soap smell to have disguised or wiped them clean, and wet panda fur was also missing. _'Thank the kami; I really hate that smell!'_ Still, pleasant lack of panda-stink aside, _no one_ cleaned this thoroughly. _'Hell, I sure don't. Not even Kasumi tries for this.'_ It also left no hint still as to what manner of oddity could have occurred.

A ceiling materialized from out of what must have been a complete darkness only moments before.

There were softly luminescent panels between unblemished white tiles, and a single, dark monitor directly overhead. At the edges of vision were amassed a multitude of mysterious machines, all connected to bizarre gauges and gizmos by countless cables and cords, some reaching too close to see. On further inspection, a vast majority of them were. This led to a number of pointed questions. _'And why the heck can't I turn my head to see where they go?' _ An instant passed. _'Why can't I even move my __**eyes**__? Can I move at all?'_ Another moment slipped by. _'I am completely paralysed; why don't I care? Was I drugged again?'_

The custom system boot completed. Input/Output device functionality tests returned positive results. All data ports, wireless, and A/C power connectors were in proper working order. Memory partitioning and allocation were restructured according to input from 'Father', and free of corrupted sectors. Mobility components were engaged, and in excellent repair, with minimal friction and full range of motion. The power button was disassociated from shutdown and energy saving modes.

Jolted by the rapid influx of alien information, the bed's occupant shot up into a sitting position, drawing the first breath since waking. Rather than using the new-found mobility to investigate the surroundings, _her_ attention was focused on something much closer to home. "Aww, man, I'm a girl." Something else was off. Namely, the girl she was. "Where'd most of my breasts go!" A brief pause was taken to process the incongruity of the last two complaints, but since the first was familiar and normal, the second earned greater attention.

Attention shifted slightly to the incredibly long, silky, blonde hair covering much of her front. She was _sure_ it had been red, and much, much shorter. It had certainly not been worn loose. It was only partially covering an obscenely frilly, cool, and sheer black, lacy nightgown. With a disappointingly adorable roar, she tore the covers from her bed and whipped her head, long hair, and dozens of wires about searching for the person to blame. "Alright, ya old perv, I'm gonna kick your ass once and for all this time!" Her tirade was halted as she traced some of the wires back to where they attached with her tiny, dextrous fingers. Panic set in when she discovered they plugged _into_ her head. A frantic moment's pulling and tearing found her free of the connected cords.

She was also made aware that all her ports were free of external connected devices and that her housing could safely be closed. The last was just too much, and she stood ramrod straight, arms at her sides, glaring at the most obtrusive machine she could locate before yelling out with _no fear at all,_ "What the hell is going on here?" She almost jumped out of her skin when the answer was emitted from some panels beside the screen above the bed she'd been lying on.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty, and do not fear. I, Icchan, am here to make everything clear to you." The girl so addressed made a solemn vow to have the amused-looking, dark haired man in a lab-coat currently displayed on the monitor earn his shit-eating grin when she met him in person.

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**Author's Note: I certainly didn't intend for this to come out so late. I was originally planning to release it around Christmas, with Chapter 7 of APD, but that didn't turn out as hoped. This is more a teaser than anything, but I wanted to get it out there since it's been sitting on my hard drive for so long. Once again, huge thanks to Riniko22 for allowing me to work with this idea.**

**The pseudo-science premise for how this all is going to work is in many ways contingent on the technologies explored in Angelic Layer. Expect this to be science-fiction in some places.**

**The story presupposes a darker world than is seen in Ranma 1/2, or even Chobits proper. From the former, Martial Arts Mayhem, and RomCom elements will (hopefully) be imported. From the latter, a whole hell of a lot of focus on the existence and merit of inorganic consciousnesses.**

**Feel free to leave a comment even on this tiny Chapter, and sorry once again for the long wait on APD 7.  
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	2. Don't Get Out of Bed

_**Disclaimer: **If you think it's mine, you're wrong. Angelic Layer, Chobits, Ranma 1/2, the story premise, the works. All of them are some other entity's property._

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**Ranma, Now on PC - Chapter 01: Don't Get Out of Bed**

The elevator's door slid open smoothly, admitting its passenger to a room dimly lit by what few sunbeams could penetrate the thick curtains drawn over all the windows. Decoration was minimal, excepting where it was completely absent, and sheets of beige cloth covered what were surely chairs, tables, sofas, and shelving units. The floor was hard wood, and the ceiling bare of any lighting.

The elevator's passenger stepped into the room, only to spin in place when her earlier conveyance slid into the floor with a subtle "whoosh" of air. The way back, she knew, would not open as easily.

"Go out the exit opposite the elevator, take a left, and open the third door on the right." She repeated the instructions aloud, even as she followed them. The man on the monitor in the machine-filled room beneath the entire building had told her she would find more appropriate outdoor wear, there. Then she would be able to leave this place and assemble her thoughts in comfort.

The solitude of the building made every step a little daunting. She was very unused to being alone, and could have used some relief from the knowledge that the man who had explained her situation _was already dead_. "Dead, _too_," she corrected herself. According to the man, Icchan, so was she. Or maybe she _had been_ dead; it was pretty surreal, whatever the hell was going on. Shaking herself, and putting it aside as an unproductive train of thought, the girl pulled open the door. "Wouldn't know I woke up if it weren't crazy."

An entire wall of the room she entered was a window looking out on a large garden, overgrown now but obviously well loved at one time, not so very long ago. It belonged to a girl, if all the pink was any indication. _'Two girls,'_ she added, taking note of the second bed. She pushed past the meaningless details and made her way to the closet that took up one of the walls. The sight of herself in a stand mirror along the way stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Aw, jeez, what kind of paedophile _freak_ dresses a little girl, even a fake one, in sexy lingerie? This chick looks like she's 14 at best!" No pervert presented himself, and the one in question most certainly couldn't if what he'd said was true. Only silence and the image of her present body deigned to make themselves known. Of the two, she was having trouble determining which was more troubling, but only one offered itself as a focus for attention.

She really _did_ look young. More, her pale, bizarrely perfect, unmarked skin made her look younger still. _'Like I've never done anything,' _she mused. It was rather unsettling. The long, luxurious blonde hair she'd noticed earlier hung loose down past her waist. _'Bad for fighting,' _she thought, _'but if __like that guys says,_ _my brains'll melt without it doing __all that_ _heat dissipating __stuff__...__' _she sneered at the thought, as a faint whisper of a memory slipped into her head. She'd been told one too many times that her brains were mush, and would hate to prove whoever it was right. _'__I __guess I can __get __used_ _to liking long hair__, if I have to__.' _She was also skinny, short and had just about every other feature that would make elderly grandmother types want to come up and pinch her cheeks. All kinds of free food was most certainly going to be in her future with the amount of sugary sweet 'cuteness' she was packing.

It was perfect, except for the extremely blatant white topped, pink bottomed 'housings' to either side of her head. They sort of reminded her of fish heads, especially when they opened to provide access to an abundance of little holes for electronics to plug themselves into. Those were the most glaring evidence that she was a 'persocom', some sort of weird humanoid computer thing that she knew next-to-nothing about, despite being sure she should have been more familiar with them than that. Another equally obvious proof was her eyes. No Human peepers she had ever seen reflected light the way they did, and there was a small pulse of light crossing the bottom of her irises periodically for a reason she couldn't rightly fathom.

It didn't seem likely to the petite blonde that shopkeepers would be eager to part with their wares for some walking, talking computer. Even if, she noted with joy only somewhat muted since her first hearing of the fact, she would still be able to eat _a little_. So far as she could tell, her body was designed to pretty convincingly fake _being_ Human outside those few jarring features.

Shaking herself from observing... _herself_, she supposed would now be correct, the robotic young girl diverted her attention from the mirror, and cast open the closet. But almost immediately afterward she fell face-first in shock into a shoe-box. Her vocabulary was missing some of the necessary tools to describe the mass of black, white, lacy frilled things with the occasional pink or red accent that greeted her. _Really girly_ seemed to miss vital elements: 'uselessly dressy' and 'pervert bait' to name only two. A few curses directed at 'Icchan' later and she was sorting through the clothes for _something_ that wasn't a skirt, or dress, or frilly. She came away from the hunt with a pair of relatively plain black cotton panties, but her choices of outer clothes seemed to be stacked against her. Ultimately, the best she could manage was a black blouse with pink piping and just a little decorative white ruff around the only _slightly_ dipping neckline, paired with a loose black skirt with an uneven, wispy hem revealing much more of one leg than the other.

Sliding her feet into some soft-soled flats that buckled with a _rose_, of all things, the recent persocom took another look in the mirror, and laughed at herself. She was in the most casual outfit in the entire closet, and it _still_ looked like she was planning on going to stand around in Shinjuku for several hours. No doubt there were a plethora of accessories, including stockings, gloves, hair ornaments, jewellery, and hats that could be worn with the ensemble in order to 'liven it up'. Running from a trio of determined, grinning girls 'livening up' her wardrobe for her flashed through the blonde's mind. Well, if they still wanted to play dress-up with her, they would have to _find_ her, first.

"Better find myself, while I'm at it," the girl muttered, and walked to the window. Unlatching it, and then sliding it along stiff, weather-worn rollers admitted her to the overgrown garden. A walkway of stone tiles, only _mostly_ covered in grass, eventually led to a tall stone bench. All around the house with its central garden were taller buildings. Mirrored glass, glaring advertisements, and the entire Tokyo city skyline were just beyond the comparatively tiny, abandoned complex's walls.

Stretching out in a way that spoke of long habit, the petite blonde acknowledged what she knew. _'That's where I am. I'm somewhere in Tokyo, which is where the crazy, rich scientist says I died. It's been almost two years since that, according to him, and I ain't got much else to go on yet.__'_

_'And_ _that's right now that's about bupkiss,'_ she frowned, recognizing how little she really had to go on. _'Ain't no missing person reports out for anyone that looked even a little like me... like I used to. The perv seemed pretty confident I would remember everything __**eventually**__, but for now I'm short a name, an address, and almost any detail about my life, other than that I was athletic and stacked.'_ That wasn't strictly true. She had _many_ details to go on, just not very well connected. The instruction to "feel it out" had been unhelpful in and of itself, but it gave the presently nameless girl a sense of familiarity, as though that's all she _ever_ had to go on. Well, the man had left a bank card for her; that was altogether new, if she had to guess.

A casual hop to the compound's roof ended in a face-full of grass and dirt, a flare of pain in her face and knees, and a hurt, surprised, frustrated cry. "What the hell is wrong with me?" When no response came – she had halfway expected speakers to appear and start disgorging knowledge – she picked herself up, brushed some of the mess off her skirt, and tried the jump again. It proved _much_ easier with focus, and eased a growing fear that she might be insanely weak. _'Note to self: personal computers are not designed for roof-hopping.'_

The girl was _very_ impressed by what she saw there. _'Icchan wasn't just rich, he was downright loaded.'_ It was one thing to have a big house with multiple large bedrooms and space for a sizable garden on the interior within city limits. Not a trivial thing, mind, but it was another thing entirely to have such with a private, partially concealed walkway leading to a sidewalk not three blocks away from Sunshine City _and have one's estate paying for it well after death_. She supposed she should be thankful; it would have been too awkward to find some high-ranking minister and family eating dinner when she'd arrived in the living room by elevator. Something about the thought of _that_ situation tickled at her memory, but when nothing new started emerging, she chalked it up to extreme familiarity with that species of uncomfortable.

Her face lit up like a second sun when she suddenly put two and two together and came up with filthy rich. The man with an honest to goodness estate in the heart of Toshima had left her a bank card, and given her the access code for it. _She_ was fabulously wealthy. Even if it took her _years_ to find who she really was, and to get in touch with her falsely mourning family, it wouldn't be a problem because that Icchan pervert, Kami bless his soul, had given her the means to live in what would probably be the lap of luxury indefinitely. Guys _that_ rich pretty much couldn't wait to spend it, she was sure. And that meant she could _easily_ afford something practical to wear instead of the stupid skirt she was putting up with.

No further prompting was needed to say farewell to the overgrown garden, the creepy-ass wardrobe, or the supremely terrifying computer room in the basement. The reborn – or rather rebuilt – girl hit the ground running, and swerved towards the massive shopping Mecca in search for proper clothes and all the most delicious food she could ever care to consume.

It was that same carefree charge that saw a busy street in ikebukuro cringe as she ploughed into a man and bounced off with a resounding "whock". Through the pain of having smashed her face into a _very_ muscular chest, she noted with a kind of pride that she got a good two or three meters of distance out of the bounce. Pride was taken in that, because the girlish shriek she let out was not the sort of thing one took pride _in,_ not to mention the whole blindly running into someone. Her arms curled into her chest, ready to spring out and divert the force of the fall when she hit the ground.

The matter never came up, because she wasn't falling. More accurately, someone was keeping her from falling. The guy she'd smacked into had caught her before she could finish the whole falling thing. She was feeling too stupid to say anything as he put her back on her feet, keeping his hands on her shoulders to make sure she was steady.

"Are you OK, miss?" The man asked. His voice marked him as young, perhaps in his late teens. He let out a nervous laugh when she didn't respond immediately. "I'm sorry about that, I was busy looking at my map and didn't see you there and... My map!"

His hands, and attention, vanished in an instant as he cast about in all directions for the map. A flash of irritation at being forgotten so quickly passed as she looked up and saw her 'saviour' turning his head back and forth randomly. It was really astonishing to watch, actually. '_What kind of moron misses looking to his left, or behind him, when he loses something?'_

His kind, appeared to be the answer. The guy looked pretty funny panicking there, in a _mustard_ button-down shirt tucked into some khaki dress pants, and a truly hideous pastel-coloured paisley tie around his neck. He was carrying a camping pack, for some reason. The crowning glory of his outfit, appropriately placed upon his crown, was a bright yellow headband with black squares of varying size printed all over it. It held back a big, messy pile of black hair from his face. It tugged at her memories, but the map floating away behind the guy demanded action. It wasn't like she'd _needed_ him to catch her, but it was helpful. She returned her favours. She was _pretty_ sure she returned her favours. _'OK, fine. I __**will**_ _return my favours. Dumb broken memory.'_

"Hey. It's over there." It didn't hurt that the favour was easy to return. The tacky man followed her finger and found his map floating away. An errant current sent it sailing _much_ higher, easily five stories high. But the blonde persocom's hand interested her more than the idiot's panic and flailing after something he could no longer reach. It was empty. There was no bank card in her hand. That was the hand she had been carrying it in. Not being an idiot, her searching, while no less frantic, had a lot more guiding intelligence to it, and she found her fortune lying on the ground near where the tacky guy had been in seconds.

And then the tacky guy was there again, with his map. "Got it! Thanks!" He enthused, as his foot sent the card skidding along the sidewalk.

She leaped after it. It was a dive that any baseball player would be proud of, and it was _fast_. Fast like a high school student ten seconds from being late for class was fast. That being universally a handful of microseconds too slow, her fingers lightly brushed the card's edge as it slipped cleanly between narrow drainage grates in the sidewalk.

All of the money she could ever have wanted made a distant, lazy "ploop", and drifted off to parts unknown.

The cute blonde persocom let out a wail of despair, then, that passerby had to work very hard to ignore. Many of them only succeeded because they were sure the awfully dressed, if nice, young man who had caught her earlier would help her again. They were right, though hardly in the way any of them expected.

Rising to her feet with hands in front of her face, twisted into talons and twitching, the girl looked at the once-again concerned face of the idiot boy who had just destroyed her only means of subsistence in all the world.

"Oh no, did I do that to your clothes?" He asked, mortified.

The expression "easy come, easy go" passed through her mind, and was discarded as the sort of thing weak people said when they were too scared to beat the hell out of something to properly mourn their losses. The mad scientist who had turned her into a weedy little girl robot had said that the best way to recover her memories would be to act natural. Well, she was pretty sure that there was nothing in the entire world more natural than beating in _this guy_'s face, with its goofy – not cute – little fangs and stupid – not expressive – lost gaze.

"This is all _your_ fault." She cried out, hands balling into fists as she charged at him once more, now with intent. "Die!" Those words, too, tugged at memory. They were a little off, but _Kami_ did they feel like vindication. The dismay writ plain on the jerk's stupid face helped.

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**_Author's Note:_ Well, now. That didn't take nearly as long as I feared.**

**Yes, chapters will be short. No, I'm not fixing that. Yes, I hope to put them out fairly frequently**.** No, it will not take long for Ranma to get _a_ name back, and not much longer to get _her_ name back. Yes, future character introductions will come with names almost right away, just not this one.  
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**Any comments or criticisms on _any other element whatever_ will be greatly appreciated. Even anonymous reviews are accepted now!  
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	3. Old Friends are New Again

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing even remotely related to Ranma 1/2 or Chobits, including all terminology, characters, etc..._**

**Ranma, Now on PC - Chapter 2: Old Friends are New Again**

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It was a bit disheartening to have her initial attack, a clean, quick punch to the face, completely dodged by the bastard who'd just lost her her meal ticket, but the petite blonde persocom didn't let that interfere with twisting herself into a whirling, scything kick from her hip that would definitely leave its recipient with the wind knocked out of him. Except, to her great annoyance, he had the speed and skills to knock the attack back down with his map-free arm, even as he twisted away from his assailant.

"What'd I d-" the young man cut off his moronic question as he frantically backpedalled himself away from a tight, flying reverse kick that his deflection had enabled. He still wound up spinning though when the combined force of her initial attack and his earlier redirection impacted on his face. That was good, she mused, because kicking him like that had hurt her own foot quite badly. He recovered from the assault almost instantly, outright _running_ from her after making a few comical revolutions.

_'How the hell can kicking this guy's face hurt? What kind of idiot builds a machine that can feel pain?' _The persocom asked herself, even as she bounced back off the aching appendage and into a gravity-defying dash towards the target of her vengeance, bunching skirts up around her hips all the while. The other people in the streets before them hadn't even blinked, let alone moved since the fight broke out. All at once though, they slipped out from their reveries and scattered; trying to escape from any sort of collateral damage and in turn opening up a path before the reluctant combatant and the insistent girl rushing behind him. Some of the civilians were screaming, and others looked pretty scandalized. None were really in a position to keep up with what was going on.

This became especially true when the girl's target of interest rocketed off the ground and scrambled onto a roof some three stories up before peering down, horror in his eyes, to try and talk from a safe distance. The prodigious leaping capability made his easy retrieval of the wind-carried map make a lot more sense. "Listen, whatever I did I'm sorry!"

He quickly came to regret the time it took to say those words, though, as the persocom drifted gracefully from street, to shop-sign, to lamp-post, to deliver a punishing and lightning-fast combination of strikes into his midsection, carefully avoiding impacting ribs, arms, or hips that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt were _almost_ as hard as the man's skull. The blows still stung to deliver, but when he staggered, stumbled, and eventually rolled away from her, it was clear that they had hurt him significantly more than her. "Obviously not sorry en- Hey!"

The guy had just dropped into an adjoining alleyway before kicking off a wall and running, interrupting any sort of fabulously insightful and stress-relieving taunts she might have thrown his way. It occurred to her that she was rapidly becoming angrier at the fashion-challenged moron more for refusing to stand and put up a real fight than for losing her a perfectly preposterous amount of cash. Even as she crashed through alleyways after him, bellowing a war-cry that just _barely_ succeeded at sounding more menacing than adorable, she came to a conclusion. _'I don't like fancy dresses, I'm a kick-ass martial arts bad-ass who would rather beat a guy up than hear an apology, and I was pretty miffed to wake up a girl. I must be the worst tomboy in the world.'_ A certainty that she was somehow wrong overcame her, and brought with it a scowling face framed by close-cropped, blue-black hair. _'Second worst,' _she amended, becoming less bothered by that assessment, enough at least to return her full attention to the chase.

And it was a hell of a chase, too. The young man led her through alleyways, restaurants, bath-houses, and even a few apartment buildings. All the while the blonde robot kept getting more livid at her failure to corner him and force a confrontation. He was gibbering things, at least; probably trying to figure out a way to worm himself out of the situation. It was actually sort of funny. She decided that she was OK with gibbering. Really, she was almost enjoying chasing him, even if she was stuck feeling a little bit sympathetic for the boy. It sucked to have angry girls hounding you, even if she was sure her experience with it was never her fault. What eventually gave her the push necessary to force his hand was the way her eyes had fixed on the guy's broad back. She was forced to admire the powerful muscles there and in his arms. For all his strength, his hold on her earlier had been much more pleasant than the crushing grip she knew he possessed. _'This isn't the first time?' _For a brief moment her face scrunched even as her cheeks heated at the thought, before she shook the question away; pressing on after her target. They needed to get to the fighting first before she allowed her mind to start extrapolating.

"Quit running and fight like a man, bacon-bits!" She had no idea why she thought the _last_ part would bring things to a head, but it did. The previously coordinated young man in the ugly shirt and tie tripped over his own feet, becoming wrapped up and inverted in a passing primary school's child-sized swing. His body temporarily trapped, he fixed her with an upside-down stare; face briefly turning to anger, then shock, and last in confusion as his mind churned through the words. She really missed the fear.

"Do... do I know you, miss?" he finally articulated. At his question, the odd feeling that she'd _been_ there, on the other side of this conflict, became more real. It stopped her hopes of a fight cold. Or maybe it was her helplessly dangling would-be opponent. She gave a silent prayer that she had never been that pathetic, at least not while someone was watching.

Looking at his face, it was made even clearer that she _did_ know him. "Ryoga, right?" Even as they both mirrored the expression of surprise on the other, the tiny blonde machine continued, below her breath. "Yeah. We went to middle school together."

And that was that. Barely a moment after leaving the place she'd woken up in, devoid of clues or information on how to recover herself, she'd found, and gotten into a fight with, someone she _knew_, even if neither of them had known that at the time. The fantastically over-dressed persocom reflected on the profundity of her fortune, as she let her dark skirts fall and ran a hand through her now blazing hot hair. She really didn't care how funny it looked to the elementary schoolers, their teachers, or the assembled parents that a crazy computer had chased a high-school, or maybe college-age, student into their park before tangling him up in a swing; she was simply too busy bursting into laughter at the absurdity of the whole situation.

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Ryoga had regained his composure and freedom without much delay, and apologized profusely to the witnesses to the end of their altercation, even as he gathered a few books and other items that had fallen from his pack during his brief inversion. The adults weren't even sparing a scornful look for the small persocom, which to her was pretty great; she had already been getting ready to make with the heavy duty contrition, but since her quick bow and quiet, "sorry" were hardly acknowledged, making a spectacle of herself was thrown by the wayside. She got to stand there and snicker while the former classmate who'd cost her a literal fortune did that instead.

Things gathered, and still acting awkward as could be, Ryoga walked to her and motioned for them to evacuate the scene. Lacking a better idea on how to find her way home, and not particularly wanting to start in on a crazy story about brain-transfer induced amnesia with little kids listening in, she went along with him. Her feet hurt like hell since she'd lost her entirely non-functional shoes at some point during the chase, and the sting from that first successful kick had yet to fade. _'Was I ever this soft?'_

"Umm... I'm sorry, miss. I should remember you, but I don't." The mustard-shirted teen looked quite upset about that, which curiously elated the very recent persocom. Her new body was a perfect disguise, and this Ryoga guy had no way to know who she really was unless she gave it to him!

All at once scenarios started to buzz in her head. _'What to say? Fan-girl? Sister? Ex-girlfriend? Life-long rival? Fiancée?' _The possibilities were intoxicating her even as she had diabolical ideas about how to guilt him into helping her by using them. She frowned, though. _'What kind of moron would actually believe any of this crap though?'_ Somehow it was obvious that he would, even if the story she'd come up with would make no sense whatsoever.

Her musings on Ryoga's stupidity were cut off when he said, awkward enough that she had to choke back laughter, "I'm... uh... Hibiki Ryoga, but I guess you already know that. So... What was yours, miss? Name, that is."

Creasing her brow, the blonde persocom came to the realization that she'd been missing that. _'How the hell can I not know my own name? Think, dummy!'_

It turned out that her mouth was ahead of her on that one. "My name is Ranko." That was a lie. It was one she was exhaustively familiar with, and the very first name she pulled out of her muddled head when she couldn't think of the right one. She took a moment to scowl over that. _'I'm a real piece of work. My first instinct is to pretend I'm someone else to con this guy! How can it be that it's easier to remember a fake name than my real one?'_

Steeling her resolve, and aware of no reason _not _to be more honest if she could help it, she expanded on that. She was determined not to be the sort of person who created elaborate lies to her own detriment just to get a rise out of someone. "It's Tendo Ranko, sometimes. Not always. It's been a couple years since I really... saw anyone. We... Well. We went to school together, so... maybe you could help me find my family?" 'Ranko's' voice trailed off weakly at the end. She really didn't know a lot about him, aside from that he should never have stopped letting his mother dress him.

_'Can I really trust him to help me?' _That question met with such a mixed response that she reconsidered going into trivial and morbid details like that he may very well have already attended her funeral. Her mood improved a bit at the humour of that. _'Wonder if I should pay my respects, heh.'_

"Tendo Ranko?" There was a surprised excitement in Ryoga's voice, as he looked over at her.

"Uh, yeah."

"Are you a relation of Tendo Soun?"

Ranko spent a fraction of a second wondering if she always had to crane her neck so far back to look into Ryoga's eyes. It seemed like it was a sometimes sort of thing. She _did_ know a Soun Tendo, though, and even if it wasn't a blood relation, he was the next best thing. "Yeah! You know Uncle Tendo?" she asked, a shocked and hopeful tone in her voice.

When he nodded, the identity-deficient persocom literally hopped about in elation, whooping loudly. Within a couple hours at most, this guy could escort her to whatever neighbourhood of whatever ward she needed to go to, and she'd be able to somehow figure everything out with the help of her almost-family. Inwardly, she practically dared anyone to call her on her silly behaviour.

While the people on the streets around her looked at her askance, Ryoga only gave a sympathetic smile, and said "I know what it's like to miss your family. Do you wanna get going?"

Ranko, once she'd calmed down sufficiently, let out a brief cough and tried to recover her dignity after the outburst. Still, she was quite pleased. She didn't even have to say anything compromising to get this guy to bring her to exactly the person she needed to see! She put up for reassessment her previous opinion of him. He might have been an abysmally dressed goof, but he was an alright guy. He also for some reason looked very sad all of a sudden.

Sobering in seconds, the persocom asked, with some of her own sympathy, "haven't seen your folks much, either?"

Ryoga held a far-away look on his face for a moment, before shaking his head and chuckling. "We write all the time. I'm used to it." He started walking again, his stride short and easy to follow, a welcome courtesy for someone with short legs.

She was content to follow in silence, since the boy didn't seem likely to strike up a conversation, nor in the least like he minded the quiet between them. _'Probably better this way,' _Ranko reasoned. _'I've got about a million things to ask him, an' I don't know if I __**want**__ any o' the answers. He's helping me now, but would he if he knew who I really was? We went to school together, and we musta been close. What __kind of close, though?' _Ranko spared a glance up at her guide. He looked a lot less sad than earlier, down to a subtle wistful; he was very much focused on getting to his destination. _'If he didn't dress like a clown, he'd certainly be with a girlfriend right now. Also, if he weren't a clumsy jerk who lost people scads of cash.'_

"Oi, Ryoga." The extremely personal form of address caught him a bit by surprise. Watching him get flustered trying to respond brought back memories of leaving a slightly younger version of him, in a slightly less formal variation on the same tacky outfit, in the same state. _'Musta teased the hell out of this guy. I think he used to actually be even __**more**__ weird around girls, but this broken memory thing means I get to make fun of him for everything all over again. Pretty sure he didn't kill me, or help. If I'm like this thirty minutes after I met him, he would've killed me back in middle school if he was ever gonna.'_

"Miss Tendo?" Ryoga's attempt to add some formality to their interaction and restore his balance was noted.

"Jus' Ranko. We're old friends, ain't we?" Ranko wasn't about to help him in those efforts. _'Bet I'd laugh to death if I tried callin' him "Mister Hibiki".'_

The confusion on his face, while he pointed his index finger at his nose made the situation better. "I... we are?"

Laughing again, the persocom thumped the boy on the back. "Yup! You lost me a whole bunch of money when you bumped into me, an' right when I was gonna get something to eat. Now I'm broke, and still hungry." She put on a show of being pitiful; shrinking into her already diminutive form and sending her companion a pleading look with moist, amber eyes. "Can you treat me to some food, please?"

Ryoga crumbled like a dry sandcastle, and while he was finding them something to eat, Ranko marvelled at how well designed the body she wore was. It could cry, it could hurt – her foot still stung, so she was going to order something expensive – it could perform martial artist grade leaps, and had fine sensory reception to the point where minute balance shifts were recognizable and could be responded to using her experiences in a completely different body. If it hadn't been for the blatant housing units for her innumerable I/O ports, she'd have been convinced by this point that the whole persocom thing was a dumb joke by a weird old guy. There was also the way that they were no longer in the Tokyo power grid. That was something she was pretty sure people who weren't robots didn't notice, nor did they immediately switch to a power saving mode to prevent turning into a dead weight within five hours, 37 minutes, and approximately 17 seconds.

Gone were the city streets, people, and machines that should have been everywhere, still. They had been replaced by a large, fenced-off field with cows grazing and looking curiously at her and Ryoga. Panic rising, Ranko grabbed her guide by the arm and tried to get his attention. "Hey! Where the heck are we?" She was sure there would be a good explanation. There had to be. She was also paradoxically sure that the explanation would only make her miserable.

"Oh," Ryoga responded, sounding as though there was no cause for concern. "There's this great takoyaki stand I eat at sometimes. It's pretty close to Nerima, too. We just need to cross this field, and take a ship from the edge of the desert to get there... I think."

_'Ah,' _the new persocom concluded, teeth grinding. _'He puts up with me because I haven't killed him myself.'_


	4. Fool Me Once

_**Disclaimer**_: **_I own nothing even remotely related to Ranma 1/2 or Chobits, including all terminology, characters, etc..._**

**Ranma, Now on PC - Chapter 03: Fool Me Once...**

* * *

The stars hadn't changed. They were the stars of her childhood, and out here in the countryside their brightness was little-dimmed by the light thrown up by civilization. Despite the unpleasant circumstances that had led her here, the small blonde persocom going by the name Ranko couldn't stop herself from lying back and tracing the constellations, a smile growing on her unblemished, pale face. She found herself speaking aloud as she did so.

"Do you remember them all? There's the greater loot sack and its more concealable counterpart. Look at the wary shopkeep's sash, with no loose, pullable fabric to be seen. And the doop's really showin' up tonight, wondering where the cunning thief ran off to!" Her exuberance seemed to have infected her companion, and he laughed about all the names. She knew a lot of people did that. _'Guess not many folks take the time to pay attention to the stars.'_

It occurred to Ranko that her friendliness was probably making Ryoga think she'd forgiven him for the whole 'getting them lost' thing, not to mention rendering her completely impoverished. Morosely, she wondered if he would be right in thinking that. She had taken a tiny bit of revenge by making him do all the work of setting up the camp, and a little more by 'absent-mindedly' sitting or lying in new provocative poses when he looked up from his work to hear what she had to say. The effort of keeping her laughter to a restrained giggling rather than an outright guffaw had started to strain her around the third time the older teen smashed his thumb driving in a tent-peg.

About the time she was getting to the 'unrighteous monk and his gourd', Ryoga sat himself down beside her and deposited a pair of bowls in front of both their feet. He also reached a hand over to her so she could sit more easily. That only made Ranko scowl, as she kicked up her feet, and used some momentum and leverage to sit without his help. "Not an invalid, or nothin'," she groused aloud. _'Woulda been easier to let Ryoga help me, but that'd be embarrassing.'_ The older boy merely retracted his proffered appendage and scratched his cheek self-consciously.

Their simple meal consisted of packets of instant ramen with freeze-dried veggies and fish cakes. Grabbing a pair of well-worn chopsticks from atop their respective bowls, Ranko and Ryoga both declared their intention to eat and dove in. Or rather, Ranko dove in, while Ryoga ate at a slow, measured pace. The blonde robot girl excused her enthusiasm as resulting from having gone years between meals, even if she hadn't observed the passing time. Still, she had to slow her pace pretty quickly. By the time Ryoga was finished, she had dropped down to picking at her food one noodle at a time, and was struggling to muster the appetite to swallow.

While she was doggedly trying to finish the ramen, her companion set about cleaning his pot. He had changed into some heavily travel-worn clothing before he started setting up camp for the both of them. She had only been too happy to turn away while he swapped outfits, not wanting to revisit the thoughts which had assailed her otherwise rational mind during the chase he'd led her on. For all that he still seemed attached to mustard yellow and black as a colour scheme, the new outfit looked _infinitely_ more like it belonged on the guy than had the dress shirt and tie. With her bloated belly rebelling against further consumption, Ranko struck up what she hoped would be a distracting conversation so that she could take it by surprise in a few minutes. "So what was with the dumb-looking school-duds?"

Ryoga grunted. "Do they look that bad, Ranko?" A scowl from the sort-of-girl stopped him from using any honorifics attached to her name. He was trying to be polite while being insulted, and the awkward grin he wore spoke of the grimace he was hiding.

That earned a little laughter from her. "Yeah. Total dweeb-wear. Makes ya seem colourblind, 'cause no one who knew what they looked like would wear 'em."

"Don't do a lot of sugar-coating, do you... Ranko?"

"Nope! So why the get-up?"

Face reddening at the frank appraisal, Ryoga grumbled out, "They're for giving a good impression when I apply for work near the college I'll be going to." He said no more, and set about poking the sticks and logs of his fire.

"And what're you takin'?" Ranko snuck into the boy's personal space even as she asked the question. He was too distracted to pay proper attention, so it was as easy as nabbing food mid-lecture.

Much to the mischievous persocom's surprise, Ryoga only grew more distant. His eyes were on the fire he'd built, but he was looking somewhere else entirely. "It's my last year of high school. I'm kinda old for it, but I missed the first pursuing a grudge. Was stupid. Never settled a thing _and_ screwed my life up worse. And..."

As Ranko noted the pain creeping in with those words, she started to feel _heavier_, like her body – already a pain to move since leaving the power grid – weighed a ton. Only her excellent balance kept her from tumbling over and squashing her pretty face in the dirt, even if it was a near thing. _'Gotta lift his spirits pronto,'_ the petite persocom surmised. That decided, she allowed gravity to do its thing and dropped onto Ryoga's back, arms encircling his neck and falling across his chest.

Her actions pitched the both of them forward as the young man tried to compensate for her weight, and elicited an amusing "gack!" from him. Not having to carry her own improbable weight gave Ranko no small measure of ease. _'Advanced plastics my ass, I have __**got **__to be made of lead,' _she decided.

"Ra- Ranko!" Ryoga stammered. The blush he was sporting was positively _nuclear_, and the machine-girl couldn't stifle a bout of giggling at her success.

Still, a bit of heat crept into her own visage as she payed attention to the way her breasts were squashed into Ryoga's back, and the feel of his tensed pectorals under her dangling digits. She pushed herself back up to her knees and away from the flustered boy. It was easier, now, since she seemed to have lost a few hundred kilos.

"Hey. I think you're pretty alright even if you _are_ a screw-up," the blonde drawled seductively. Her impish grin, she hoped, would prevent the beet-red boy from coming to any of the wrong conclusions about that.

Ryoga twitched, turned and caught sight of her expression, then seemed to relax a little. "Thanks, I think." He left the words hanging while the fire crackled away. Ranko could feel his green eyes boring into her, searching for something, and for a long time they sat in tableau. The intensity left him, suddenly, and in a single unbroken motion the young man rose to his feet, even as he used one free hand to draw Ranko up from where she knelt. "We should sleep. Take the tent; I'll make do."

_'That's pretty nice of the guy,'_ the blonde persocom conceded, before spinning and sauntering up to the well-loved piece of camping gear. In saccharine tones she called back, "_Nighty-night, Ryoga-dear_." Much lower, and quiet enough that she doubted it reached her _own_ ears, Ranko muttered a thanks. She steadfastly refused to look to see if he had heard, but could feel his gaze on her.

Taking a quick breath, she darted through the tent flaps, and observed the tiny, portable room. Countless patches, stitches, and stains that could never quite be removed told a story in a code Ranko could not decipher. The thing had been washed recently, and even the "bedding" such as it was, smelled quite fresh. All of it, though, was unmistakably Ryoga's, and as much as she felt glad to be the one sleeping comfortably within, there was a nagging voice complaining that she should not be. She hadn't earned it through might or trickery; Ryoga had _given_ it to her, which was _wrong_. The confused girl knuckled her head introspectively. _'OK. Maybe trickery, but it ain't fair that I don't know how I'm tricking him.'_

With the options of fighting with the directionally challenged boy outside when walking was something of a chore, and paying him back for the offence at some later date, Ranko supposed the latter was the only sensible one. That decided, she flopped down face first, rolled onto her side, curled up, and ceased being a conscious thing.

* * *

It was almost noon of the next day before the two had the camp packed up and were on their way _back_ toward Tokyo. It had taken a very long time for Ryoga to overcome his aversion to entering the tent with Ranko. It had taken longer still for him to wake her from what he had described as, "a really deep sleep". She had been thinking of making fun of him for that, but the small fear, followed by relief she had observed on waking inspired the persocom to keep her tongue in check. _'Well,'_ she conceded, _'I guess I might've looked faker when I wasn't moving around.'_

Ryoga had been hearing farm equipment all morning, so it was no surprise when he suggested going there to ask for directions. It was also no surprise when he started walking off at right angles to those same sounds, needing to be dragged to a halt and pointed on the right track manually. This put a bit of strain on Ranko's unmistakable omni-benevolence.

When a tractor finally came into view, the bandana-clad youth's face lit up and he proceeded to charge off in the direction from which they came. This was too much. "Ryoga, get the fuck back here!' the absurdly long-haired blonde shrilled at her just as absurdly lost companion. When he finally spun in her direction, she called out again to direct him. "Yeah, here. Right in front of you, where you can _clearly_ see. Just keep going straight. You made it!" She couldn't tell whether the boy was close to tears or violence, but things had gotten too frustrating to play along with him either way. Ranko grabbed his hand and resolved to invest in a leash if she ever had to deal with him like this again.

Ryoga's emotional state visibly shifted closer to shame and embarrassment, and he tried to gently free his hand. "I c-"

"You can't _at all_," the persocom quickly interrupted, leaving her irritation plain in her countenance and voice. "You suck so bad at directions that you somehow got us out past the outskirts of Tokyo while trying to get us to Ikebukuro Station. I'm dirty, exhausted, and frustrated. Man up and pretend holding a pretty girl's hand was your idea and maybe we'll both be happier when we finally get to the Dojo." Ryoga almost seemed ready to object, but settled down, closing his huge hand around hers. With that, the two fumed silently all the way to the tractor.

The farmer, head shielded from the cheerful noonday sun by a wide-brimmed hat, leaned down from his seat to greet the couple. He seemed friendly enough. "Hey there, folks! Welcome to my fields." he called, before his face took on an air of concentration. A moment later he burst out laughing. "Well if it isn't the young mister Hibiki! Haven't seen you 'round these parts in a while. Ever find Furinkan High School?"

The sickly grin Ryoga plastered on his face didn't do a good job of masking how uncomfortable he was with meeting this same farmer again. "Umm, good to see you, too. I did, after a while. I'm looking for the Tendo Dojo, now."

From within the shade of his hat, the man's eyes were twinkling. "Now, I don't rightly know any _Tendos_, but after the last time ya stopped by I went an' stuffed a map with landmarks to look for and clear written directions in my lunch pail. Thinkin' they're still there." He followed the statement up by reaching into a pack hanging from his tractor and rummaging around in it.

Suspicion flared up in Ranko from the content of the farmer's speech, and she turned to confront Ryoga with it. "Soooo," she began innocently. "It sounds like you get lost here lots."

Rather than responding to the implied question, the young man whose hand she was holding chuckled nervously and tried looking anywhere but at her. After a moment, he pointed up at the sky with his free hand and stuttered out, "Oh, hey! Doesn't that cloud look like a..." The momentary hesitation could have been missed by most people, but Ranko had heard it before, if _certainly_ never from Ryoga. She was not, therefore, floored when he finished the exclamation with a perfectly serious, "distraction?"

The cloud in question might also have been likened to cotton candy, a sheep badly in need of shearing, or a big pile of cotton balls. Against her will, the blonde persocom found herself doubled over laughing at the way the lost boy had barrelled through his great fumble, which only intensified when he gave her a sour look. A few wiped-away tears and a cursory survey of the sky revealed the extent, and source, of his blunder.

Feeling once-again at ease with her directionally-challenged escort, Ranko took his hand in hers once more and ever so gently rotated his arm to point at a different cloud. Even while Ryoga's face was turning red, the smaller girl was explaining between gasps for breath. "I guess ya meant to point at the one that looks like a mean-spirited washer-woman ladling water from her bucket, but got 'turned around'?

Ryoga hung his head, and mumbled out, "guilty as charged." He lifted his eyes from the ground after a moment, and put on a weak grin. "Bad way to distract you from my way with ways, huh?"

"Yeah," she agreed easily, "but you're way more slick with words than I-"

"Found it!" The farmer interrupted, waving around a notepad and crumpled road-map.

"Were you about to compliment me?" A startled Ryoga asked.

Ranko turned her head to interpose an absurd mass of hair between the two of them. She was feeling acutely embarrassed by the prospect. "It was gonna be a backhanded one," the flustered machine offered as excuse. _'Saying nice things about Ryoga – __**to Ryoga**__, even? Low power mode must be like being sick.' _The farmer's completed approach spared her further introspection on the topic.

The older, tanned man thrust his directional aids into Ryoga's chest, and explained himself boisterously. "Sorry son, it _has _been a while since ya stopped by. Hope it ain't a problem as the written directions'll only get ya t'the station; didn't have all day when I made it. Think you'll manage?"

Daring to peek at the pad the older boy was leafing through, Ranko was dumbstruck by the thoroughness of it. There were instructions on how to tell which direction was _not_ left, and descriptions of how to navigate curves and altered elevations as they arose. _'This is the nicest guy in the world,' _she thought, then quickly added a less flattering observation. _'Ryoga's gonna disappoint the hell out of him.'_

In a sudden act of good will, the persocom snatched the pad from Ryoga's hands and started scanning it to commit the real directions – ones people with a working sense of direction would use – to memory. It was a bit disheartening to recognize that the _entire_ notepad had been exhausted in describing a path with exactly five turns. Time was running out, though, so Ranko bowed cutely to the kindly farmer. "Thanks a bunch, mister! I'll see that we get there, and not Tanzania or some other stupid place."

For his part, the farmer let loose another great belly laugh, before addressing Ryoga again. "Quite the cutie you picked up, lad. What'd she cost you?"

Ryoga looked confused by the question for a few seconds, when understanding dawned on him. He ran a hand through his hair as he awkwardly responded, "well, just my pride, I guess."

The tanned man looked Ranko up and down, and then shook his head. "Obviously had way too much of the stuff cluttering up your life. Now shoo! I want to get back to my wife in time for supper." The farmer affected a rough demeanour as he stomped back to his tractor, which left the blonde choking back more laughter.

The lost boy had a weird look on his face, _'thoughtful'_, she amended, but he was dumb like that. A weak – her current power profile didn't allow better – nudge to his ribs that he only acknowledged due to seeing it brought Ryoga out of his reverie, whereupon she stowed the notepad in his right hand. His left still safely secured, they started walking the painfully straightforward path to what would once more be her home.

"Wait! Don't you want to check your directions with the notes?" Ryoga asked.

"Nope."

"The instructions were incredibly complex!"

"Nope."

"At least-"

Ranko cut off her companion's plea with exaggerated eye-rolling. "_I_ ain't lost, okay? Now tell me about the school you're goin' to so you're distracted while I ignore you and get us to the Dojo."

After a moment of half-hearted protest, they both followed her plan.

* * *

Even before the train station was in sight, Ranko was made aware of it by a resurgence of energy sparking into her. Back on the grid power saving mode was disabled and, she presumed, she was free to waste as much as she wished. It helped the petite persocom to better display her equanimity; she had been a bit less generous with Ryoga than she felt she normally would have been, moron or no. _'Guess we __**were**__ friends,'_ Ranko mused. _'The kind that don't get along, at all, but always wind up in trouble together.'_

_'Do we still have to do that?'_ A second line of thinking interrupted the first. Aside from his very manageable – and sort of sad – lack of direction sense, he had been almost decent. _'The pervert said I should do familiar things, with familiar people, in familiar places, but do I gotta have __**everything**__ be the same way? Two years is a damned long time, and I'm pretty sure I didn't used to be a computer; I couldn't make everything be the same even if I wanted to!'_ A nudge to her one-time enemy/hostile friend's ribs at the ticket dispenser let him know that, yes, the ride back into town was his treat. He grumbled at the treatment, but didn't voice any real complaint. Ranko was too deep in contemplation to afford it serious attention, anyway.

_'But,'_ she reasoned, _'I __**could**__ make things like I want them to be, or at least try for that.' _The possibility of having another chance to build her relationships with everyone she knew was somewhat intoxicating. While they waited at the terminal, the persocom looked up at Ryoga. _'I could start with him. Do I want to? I mean, as long as I lead him by the hand, he's pretty much stuck doin' what I want 'im to do.'_ Her vision tracked down, and she wrinkled her nose. _'Alright, and dress him so I'm not embarrassed when we're hangin' out.'_

Ryoga himself cut Ranko's assessment of the terms of their friendship short by squeezing her hand. The pressure was gentle, but insistent. She looked back up and cocked her head. "Hmm?"

"Everyone's looking at us, Ranko. Wouldn't you rather..." The lost boy's suggestion died off, but he was pulling at his collar in clear discomfort. A casual glance about the platform revealed that, yes, most everyone else was at least taking sideways glances at the two of them. The envy was palpable, and Ranko knew _exactly_ how to deal with that.

She proceeded to make the situation worse by pressing herself against Ryoga's side affectionately. The close contact was accompanied by a bizarre, almost shocking sensation, but she pushed it down for the sake of taunting dozens of perfect strangers. _'And hey,'_ she thought, _'no way can any boy take offence to being teased like __**this**__.' _She was rewarded by widened eyes all around and the bandana-clad youth standing stock-still.

"It's 'cuz they're jealous." Ranko explained, letting the boy in on what manner of mischief they were engaged in. "They noticed you were the luckiest guy in the world."

By the time their train arrived, she had become comfortable with her human support-beam. He, by comparison, had lost all colour in his face and more stumbled than walked aboard.

Between the hour and location they boarded, the teenager and robot-girl had no trouble finding seats for their trip towards the sprawling expanse of Tokyo. The approach felt different early in the afternoon. Usually she'd be making her way back from the beach in the evening, or from farther afield late at night. At the present hour, nothing looked the same.

Despite that it made everything feel cool enough to warrant a sweater, Ranko released Ryoga as the surroundings became denser and more urban. Rubbing her arms seemed to help, at least. "Say, pal, what's the address so I know where to stop?"

The lost boy gave her a dazed and uncomprehending look for a moment, before recognizing the request. "Uhh..." he prevaricated, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead."I think it's close to Nerima. No. It's _in_ Nerima."

Ranko hoped that a vein was throbbing on her forehead, and given how thorough the mad scientist who built her body had been, it was hardly out of the question. Disappointment was awful. "I didn't ask which Ward it was in. I _knew_ that from earlier." Her words were clipped. She _could tell_what was about to happen, but for some reason couldn't stop herself. "You have no fucking clue where the Tendo Dojo is, do you?"

"I get there just fine!" Ryoga declared heatedly. Then, deflating, elaborated. "Eventually. Usually in a couple days. Nabiki brings me there now so I forgot how long it took on my own!" Something about the way he spoke the middle Tendo sister's name sparked a recollection of fear and shame in the persocom. Nothing at all about someone feeling that way when referring to her supposed cousin was unexpected or unusual.

_'Maybe my whole family is weird,'_ Ranko considered, even as she stopped herself from going for the throat and getting more information at the expense of the lost boy's dwindling self-esteem.

Conversationally, the asked, "and how do we get in touch with my mercenary cousin?" She hoped poking fun at someone else's character flaws would help lighten the mood; it was imperative to never let it grow too heavy around Ryoga.

Looking and sounding more than a little harried, the boy flashed a strained, fanged smile her way. "Just let me find her address, OK? Don't look!"

"Sure!" Ranko lied brightly, hiding her prying eyes behind her hands. When Ryoga fished a business card out of the front pocket of his backpack and started reading it, she was already snaking her way under his arm to get a look at the card. Her technique was not so circumspect as to prevent the young man from yelping and snapping the card away, then holding it off to his side so that she could not read it. _'Wouldn't be a fun game if I won before he got to play.'_

Twisting herself up into the lost boy's lap, Ranko made a grab for the objective of their game, but was foiled when Ryoga straightened his legs and bent his spine over the chair he'd sat in. The business card was now held near the ground in the seats behind them, startling the passengers there. "Give it a rest Ran-"

"Too slow!" The blonde cut off the demand by vaulting off her opponent's face to slip a foot through a hand-hold and nab the card while dangling inverted there. The passenger who'd been behind Ryoga was practically seated atop his neighbour to avoid getting involved, and looking around with hope that the train's staff would intervene.

Snapping straight like a rubber band, Ryoga foiled the theft by launching himself into an acrobatic flip forward and away from their seats, rotating so that the card was impossible to read. "You aren't going to get this!" He cried. Not one to accept that sort of negativity, Ranko swung herself into the air after him, hair trailing along the ground and shooting rocks off in a wave before her.

"My aquarium!" was the actual scream that decided the conflict.

The fang-toothed boy's eyes bugged out to ridiculous proportions, and he arrested his momentum by thrusting his fingers _through_ the ceiling, then tucking and swinging his legs through his arms. Not wanting to get soaked either, Ranko pushed herself lightly off the ceiling and landed kneeling atop Ryoga's thighs and face. Somehow, it felt right to be perched atop Ryoga, and images flashed in her mind of innumerable instances of looking on the world from that advantaged vantage point. _'Could his head be flat?'_

The blonde cheerfully gushed out a quick, "Thanks, bud! Great muscle control by the way." And, with perfect aplomb, she pried the card out from her suspended seat's fingers and read at her leisure.

Thank you for finding my little lost piggy

Please return to Summer View Apartment Room 203

or contact me at nabiki at tendodojo dot com

A reward will be granted in appreciation

-Tendo Nabiki

Ranko let out a long, appreciative whistle. "I'm impressed Ryoga. Nabs could've been much meaner. How'd you get on her good side?" A pregnant pause followed, wherein the young man she was sitting on made no response, and the other occupants of the train tried valiantly to avoid gawking at the two of them. Clucking her tongue, the persocom leaned forward to address the owner of the aquarium, a middle-aged woman with a bun and nice-looking, bright, casual clothes. "Do you got some fancy portable e-mail thing?"

All at once the woman nodded dazedly and Ryoga let loose a weary groan. Then the boy's body went limp, fingers coming free of the ceiling and legs bending past his head. There was only a fraction of a second between his head and back colliding with the ground, and Ranko's backside colliding with his face, at which the boy gurgled wetly and the persocom shrieked and took to her feet, shuddering and going crimson all over due to the sudden heat and moisture.

She almost turned to yell at Ryoga, but decided it would be less embarrassing not to, given that, aside from twin streamers of blood dribbling from his nose, his face was marked with a fine impression-in-blood of her butt. Smoothing down her skirts, the blonde girl pleaded, _'please let me get a change of underwear before these get too gross and sticky. Why couldn't the stupid jerk have had boxers in his stupid doll's stupid closet?'_ Thinking quickly, she used one bare foot to smear the blood on her passed-out companion's face into a less suggestive pattern. It hardly interrupted his breathing at all when she went to his nose for spare 'paint'. The amount of obvious gawking had only increased, to which she laughed helplessly and weakly asked the woman with the aquarium, which she now noted was filled with snails, "so... uh... do you?"

Wordlessly, the woman fished into her pocket and gave a tiny hermit-crab-girl hybrid looking thing to Ranko. Blinking owlishly at the high-tech contraption, she decided two years was enough that technology would just do what she said and commanded, "send a message to Nabiki at ."

Conveniently, Nabiki seemed to be Online, if in 'Busy' status.

"Tendo Nabiki is Online, but Busy," the weird hybrid thing chirped a moment later, jaw dropping and closing mechanically, out of sync with her speech. "Is the matter urgent, or relating to her work?"

The awareness of the prompts the little device was responding to, paired with its vocalization of them, proved to be too bizarre, and Ranko tossed the thing back to its owner. By way of explanation, she rapped her knuckles on her forehead and said lamely, "totally forgot, thanks, though!"

Since, yes, her message _was_ more important than whatever scam the middle Tendo sister was running, the persocom easily answered yes to that prompt, and sent her message. It was as simple as talking, but without moving her lips. ||What's up Nabs? Found P-chan, your 'little piggy'. Figured it's been a while so we could meet up, maybe have ya take me to the Dojo to say hi to everyone after such a long time. Sound good? Lemme know what station to get off at and how to get to ya, we're already on the way.||

Seeing as the snails weren't using much of it, Ranko proceeded to lift the aquarium's lid and get a handful to wash some blood off her foot, then did the same with Ryoga's face.

Only instead of getting a clean face, he became a black piglet, which was normal for him, and caused the business card to make a million times more sense. She picked up the piglet and the clothes that no longer fit it, then returned to her seat, reasoning that if she pretended nothing at all had happened, the people whose job it was to kick off troublemakers would also pretend nothing at all had happened.

||Get over here. Now.|| Nabiki's brusque reply came through, and was followed by a link to a map showing the route to her apartment from the nearest station.

_'Convenient. Wonder how she likes livin' on her own?'_ Ranko considered, and then was made to consider something less convenient. Making a huge ruckus and then ceasing to make any at all is more likely to prompt officials to act immediately than just continuously making a huge ruckus. Also, it had started raining out, so just as well Ryoga went pig when he did. Shoving the travel clothes in the boy's backpack, and tying his porcine form to a handle strap with some strips of leather, the computer-girl was ready to begin a long journey on foot to Nabiki's home.

* * *

It had been a very long time since the streets of Nerima had been graced with the sight of a petite girl charging down its streets and performing vigorous acrobatics with sodden clothes and a massive backpack, ranting all the while. There were differences, to be sure, and there hadn't been a dazed, drowning black piglet flying behind her like a kite. All the same, the ward's residents all swiftly bustled inside and closed their blinds before some other ridiculous thing came along and complicated the already bizarre scene. Being told to mind one's own business by a panda once is enough for most lifetimes.

* * *

**Author's Note:** **Well! This took forever _again_, but in my (poor) defense I have been moving. Now that I am settled in, I have high hopes that I will be able to do a _little_ more work. Sadly, it looks like A Prince's Duty is in line to get two chapters before another one shows up for this story, simply based on the number of not-quite-complete scenes I have worked on for both.**

**I hope that you enjoy this one, though, and please leave a review!  
**


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